I Only Have Eyes For You
by simplegreycoat
Summary: San, why do you hate the snow?   I don't really, Britt. I just hate being cold.   So if I kept my arms wrapped around you the whole time, could we go play in it?  Britt, I don't—yeah. That sounds perfect.


_A/N: The infamous "glance" in 3.10 blew up tumblr (we take whatever Brittana we can get around here...), and I wrote about it. This is mostly just cute, but M for a little sexy scene. Anyway, enjoy. _

San, why do you hate the snow?

I don't really, Britt. I just hate being cold.

So if I kept my arms wrapped around you the whole time, could we go play in it?

Britt, I don't—yeah. That sounds perfect.

Santana really did hate being cold. She hated putting on a heavy winter jacket, hated having to carry layers upon layers of clothing because she could never predict how well McKinley's heating system would be working that day, and hated not being able to catch Britt staring at her bare legs.

(All those times before, she was never really showing off for the boys—it was always for her, always.)

But Brittany had only gotten back from Santa Fe the day before New Year's, and Santana wasn't about to let their last day before school started to waste. If she was gonna make Britt happy for the next 100 years, she should probably start now. So Santana reluctantly bundled up and followed Brittany down the stairs and out into the bitter cold.

(Brittany didn't lie, she never lied except all those times she told her parents she was going to bed early when really she snuck out the window and ran the three and a half blocks to Santana's window, but that didn't really count because she wouldn't have survived high school otherwise and she was pretty sure her parents knew anyway. But she never lied to Santana; she kept her arms wrapped around her the entire time they spent playing in the snow and only stopped when they fell over and made angels, two perfect matching figures decorating their sacred ground.)

After their noses turned red and they could no longer move their fingers, the girls walked aimlessly back down the street, hands locked together with complete disregard for any onlookers. In the quiet, muffled world created by the snow, Santana didn't worry about who saw. This world was their blanket, their safe and perfect space. "Hey Britt?" Santana mumbled through frozen lips, "I think I really like the snow." And Brittany turned right in the middle of 11th Avenue and gave her a perfect, snowy kiss.

Back in Santana's bed, they clutched cups of hot chocolate and watched the snow fall over Lima. Santana didn't think the city looked so drab, or boring, or even terrifying in the snow—it looked like a home. But a familiar sense of dread emerged when she thought about returning to McKinley the next day and having to once again combat the ordeal of her emotions shifting from proud to scared to unsafe to defiant to panicked to apathetic to loved to—no, not that last one. That one never left her.

Brittany detected the small piece of fear still buried deep in Santana's chest.

"San? San, are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just don't wanna go back tomorrow."

"But we get to see our friends! And sing in glee and stuff."

"I know, I just"— Santana broke. "I just feel so small."

Brittany pulled her girlfriend (yes, her girlfriend) in close to her chest and whispered "I think you need to give yourself more credit." She kissed Santana's head. "See, you're not so small. I can kiss you there, and there, and there…."

Santana laughed as Brittany continued to kiss her, every inch of her, down her temples to her ears and nose and eyes and lips, but when Britt caught the place just above her collarbone her giggle stuck in her throat, emerging as a throaty, trapped breath. Brittany deepened her kiss and slowed her pace, dragging her lips across Santana's chest and unbuttoning her oversized flannel shirt as she moved down her body. Kissing her shoulders and breasts and arms and ribs, Brittany brushed lightly on Santana's stomach and sides, causing her to arch into her touch. Santana was surprised how quickly her body responded, aching for her girlfriend's skin on her own. Tugging on Brittany's shirt, she made her break from kissing long enough to pull her shirt off over her head, blonde hair cascading down her face, and discard her pajama pants on the floor. Straddling Santana, Brittany unhooked her own bra and let her breasts drag over Santana's body while she continued kissing.

"Fuck, Britt. How'd ya get so damn hot?"

Brittany just giggled and looked up, catching Santana's eyes with a look that caused Santana's body to all but beg for her touch.

Brittany rolled down Santana's leggings and pulled them off, still kissing, and began to move away her soft black underwear. Santana bucked up involuntarily, grabbing Brittany's hair and pleading for her lips. But Brittany got only dangerously close, kissing along her inner thighs and down to her knees and shins before moving back up and lingering over Santana's beautiful, exposed body. With a soft "I love you", she kissed in between Santana's legs, first pecking and then moving her tongue outwards to lightly circle her clit. Santana responded to the movement with a slow, desperate moan, rolling her hips into Brittany's mouth.

Brittany opened her mouth wider and took Santana into her, sucking and kissing and flitting her tongue between teasing her clit and running circles in her center. Spreading her legs, Santana's breath became ragged and she reached down to touch herself, needing to feel the warmth of Brittany's tongue on her hands. Knowing that she was close, Brittany forewent buildup and slipped two fingers inside of Santana so that she could feel her delicate muscles contract around her fingers. She curled up and down, tongue still flicking Santana's now swollen bud, and reached up her other hand to trail the very tips of her fingers over Santana's sensitive, soft stomach. The new sensation brought Santana over the edge and she cried out softly as Brittany reveled in the pulsing waves. Kissing a trail up Santana's middle, she left her fingers inside of her for a moment while she brought her head up to kiss Santana's red lips.

Santana smiled into the kiss and Brittany brought both hands up to hold her girlfriend close in her arms. After a moment of snowfall-silence Santana broke the quiet.

"How come we always end up having sex in the middle of serious conversations?"

"Because it's better with feelings."

"Touché."

"Really though. I love being able to"— she raised her eyebrows suggestively, almost comically—"make loooove to you."

"Yeah. Me too, Britt. I wish we could get our lovin' on all the time. Everywhere. Idon'twannagotoschool."

Santana sunk back into the bed and Brittany sat in silence for a minute, realizing they were back to the reality of Santana's school issues and the impending start of spring semester. She finally came to an answer.

"Okay, how 'bout this. At school, even if you're feeling scared or small, you can look at me, right?"

"I'm always looking at you."

"Duh. But no, I mean like, AT me, into my eyes. Look at me and I'll make sure to remind you of sex and feelings and how you're prouder and bigger and more lovely than you think you are. No one else has to know, and then you can just fill yourself with confidence monsters and dream about me in class."

"Confidence monsters?"

"Yeah, like they'll hold onto you and make you feel bigger."

"Or you could make me feel things with your tongue."

"San, trust me."

"I always do that."

"Then trust me more."

Santana looked deeply into Brittany's eyes, settling into calm and knowing that request reached far beyond the present moment.

"Okay. Okay, I can do that."


End file.
